


Cobble House on a Hill

by Mournful_Heart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Based on writing prompt, Blood and Gore, Brutal Murder, Gore, Horror, Murder, Other, Psychological Trauma, Short One Shot, Sorry Not Sorry, Violence, Writing, jack sprat poem, messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mournful_Heart/pseuds/Mournful_Heart
Summary: Based on the poem of Jack Sprat:"Jack Sprat could eat no fat,His wife could eat no lean,And so betwixt them both,They licked the platter clean."





	Cobble House on a Hill

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a creative writing club and am pleased still with the results after some time. The prompt was the Jack Sprat poem and a genre, which we pulled out from a hat, I just so happened to chose horror. It was an exciting prosses and I hope you enjoy the short story as much as I did writing it.

In an old cobble house, large and looming, set on a prevalent green hill lived a couple together so long that even the respected elders did not recall when they had come to be. The house this old couple lived in was on the outskirts of a small English village. The village was so small in size that it was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, a close knitted community clinched together by a common factor, as most small villages are, a fear of what lay on a very particular hill just outside a very particular village. 

The villagers were very,  _ very _ close. As most small villages do this one too had its share of old ghost stories that filtered down every generation. Like most stories do they had lessons to be learned and learned they must be. So when the sun fell to rest and its warming light faded to a glow behind the trees, the children gathered at the front steps of an old woman’s cottage. All the villagers called this woman  ‘Old Nan’, despite not actually being any of the villager's grandmother. Old Nan was the eldest woman in the small English village and all the villagers agreed it was her old age that gave her the most excellent stories. When the sun went down even some adults came to listen.

There were, of course, repeat stories because no one person could hold  _ every _ story. Nevertheless, the villagers loved these stories and by the time children turned to adults they knew them well. When Old Nan came out of her cottage every night, hobbling along on her rowan walking stick, she would give the gathered crowd a sagging gap-tooth smile and sit in a rocking chair, the woods carver had made it for her some years ago after it began to paint her to stand, and she would say in her old creaky voice still full of warmth, “Now, what story will we hear tonight?”

Most night the kids would shout out tales of valiant knights who saved the princess or stories of magic and the land before man had come. These were the stories more often told. These were the stories the old woman liked best, the stories with happy endings.

One sundown, however, there was a new visitor to her audience. There was a rather tall figure face hidden by the shadow of a large brim hat, he was lanky and the skin visible on his neck, the only skin visible, was pale with an occasional dark spot. Old Nan had not taken notice of him until he answered her question, he was not loud but nor did he whisper simply stating in a wispy tone like that of the wind, “Tell me,” he began, “about the old house on the hill.”

No one dissuades his request.

A look like a mix of sorrow and something startling crossed the old woman’s face but, she did not argue with the tall figure. So Old Nan began in her thin croaking voice, “Back when there were no cottages and homes for little children there were trees, some like we know them today other much darker poisoned with their hatred for the men who wished to clear them out, it is then a young man and his wife found a pretty green hill and decided to make it their home.

“The couple was merry and beautiful glowing with their love. They did not care for the trees to make a home for they had heard stories of those who had sought to make homes of wood and had been burned as they slept for their crimes. Full of caution and seeking to live a long life full of one another the couple built a home of stones and straw. And the young couple was happy… for a time. 

“Once winter fell and the cold has seeped its bite into the stones of the house the young man’s wife cried for him to build her a fireplace so she might be warm. Ever wanted to be a doting husband he gave his wife a kiss of her nose and set out to build her fireplaces. The young man was still wary of the trees and their wrath gathered only dead plants and hay to fill the fireplace he had built. The young wife was appeased for a time, but, winter had only just begun and the nights grew colder and the fire died all too quickly with the lack of supplies. Once again the wife cried for her husband.

“‘ Jack dear,”’ The young wife wailed, “‘please the food will not cook and the house will not stay warm! We cannot hope to survive off raw meat and to stay warm, go into the forest and cut me down a tree so that we may have warm food in our bellies and a warm home to sleep in.”’

“Jack agreed nervously, he had not heard what happened to those who used trees for fire. Alas wanting to please his wife and eat something warm he set off into the wood a heavy blade with him. The woods had become dark and Jack feared getting lost before the harsh winter winds began again so when he came to a large rowan tree he thought to himself,  _ this will be large enough for a fire and thin enough for my blade to cut! _ Jack also took note of the berries on the tree, a peculiar dark orange.  _ We can eat these with the meat _ , he thought,  _ I have not seen berries of this color but I have not seen them in the winter either, perhaps that is the reason for their dark color. _ So Jack cut down the rowan tree gathered up the berries and set home.

“The rowan tree had not been like the trees we know, this tree had been poisoned by its hatred for the thought of being used for a fire, it had seen Jacks blade and guessed it was to be burned, the tree, in turn, poisoned its berries in a final act in retribution. Young ones are often naive so when Jack brought home berries and wood the young wife was so happy she began to make dinner at the very moment washing the berries to be used for a small snack after their meal. The wife cooked the meat of a snow rabbit they had caught earlier that weak and presented the meal to her husband.

“‘Thank you for the meal darling,”’ Jack said slowly, “‘but I can’t stand to eat the fat on the rabbit.”’

“‘ No mind dear,”’ The wife responded, “‘I much prefer the fat to the lean. Why don’t we just swap the fat and lean so that we might enjoy our meal better?”’

“The couple ate their respective portions and set to eating the berries Jack had found in the forest. Upon consuming them the couple agreed they had both begun to feel a craving. Jack proposed he had a craving for more of the rabbit his wife had made, the wife nodded her agreement not being able to place the craving. After the second round of rabbit the husband, who had less of the berries, was sated the wife was still in craving and asked for the squirrel Jack had killed just yesterday to be brought to her. She ate the fat of the squirrel raw along with the uncooked remnants of fat from the rabbit. The wife claimed to have sated her appetite but there was still a small gnaw on her sub-concussion for  _ something _ , though she didn’t know what it was… yet.

“The couple went on eating any game they could catch, it was scarce during the cold of winter and they ate more and more berries with every passing day a craving for some unknown food always on the forefront of their minds. On a cold evening during the last horrible stretch on the worst of winter, a traveler knocked upon the stone door to the house. The traveler was hungry, cold and in need of some place to rest. The couple gladly welcomed him in. 

“‘I’m Jack Sprat,”’ The husband introduced as he shook the traveler's hand pulling him inside, “‘The woman is my wife.”’

“The traveler responded in kind and welcomed himself to the fire. The wife pulled her husband to the side and whispered harshly into his ear that they had no room for another mouth to feed, the couple had eaten the last of their stores and the berries were gone now. Mr. and Mrs. Sprat as they were know had consumed all of the rowan tree’s berries and had used the most of its wood. As the winter had passed the young couple had seen changes in themselves too, the life was larger more fat and the husband thinner, leaner. The couple no longer looking quite as young as they were had also grown an appetite that game could scarcely control. They were hungry.

“The traveler was welcomed to nap while Mrs. Sprat prepared the mal for the evening, they would wake him when all was ready. In a fit of a hunger glazed mindset, the couple took their traveler guest and set his body a spit on the fire. When the traveler awoke to a burning pain in his flesh, mouth gagged and hands and feet bound to one another, he saw the Sprats debating which parts of him they were to enjoy.

“‘I’ll take the fat, Jack.”’ The wife chided.

“‘I’ll have the lean, and together, my dear, we’ll lick his bones clean.”’ The husband laughed and the wife joined in.

“When they had finished their meal, the couple found their craving was filled completely… until they had finished the dish. Once there were only bones left of the traveler the craving for meat returned twice fold and the two could not bare to eat anything else. The Sprat couple lured people to their home every so often once the hunger was more than they could bare to deal with and they would clean the bones of their victims together. The woman grew to look far too old for her age greasy and fat like the food she ate. Her husband was taller now and looked just as old lean and gangly limbs appearing slightly too long, his face sunk in and gave him a skeletally look.

“One night the WOman proposed a plan to her husband. They devised to let a group of people settle on the grounds below their hill so that they needn’t go through so much trouble for food anymore. Once a village had established a few villagers would go missing on a hunting trip and the couple would eat them and bury their bones in the ashes of their fire. However the more the couple ate the more they craved eventually ten men wasn’t enough. So the man said to his wife, “‘Dear, say we wait long enough for the villagers to gather so that we may have ourselves a feast?”’

“The woman was never one for the killing when she was feed and the craving far from mind. Hunger… it does things to a person… makes them do things. So she agreed. The wife went down to the village and said to her husband, “‘When the time is right, come down and meet me. We will feast on that night.”’

“The end.” Old Nan concluded a bigger grin crossing her face exposing the teeth gone and those rotting.

“Very well done.” The figure in the back clapped. The finger on their hands looking slightly too long, the arms and the legs were off-putting.

The older villagers looked puzzled and the younger were scared.

“Now,” Croaked the old woman.”won’t someone help an old fat woman out of her chair? I have a dinner to prepare.”

A laugh broke through the quiet of the air, Old Nan’s head snapped back as she laughed and a glint of hunger came into her eyes. The figure in a wide-brimmed hat began deep chuckles. Then the screaming started.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave feed back, I'd love to hear what you have to say. Anyways thanks for reading and good day/night to wherever or whomever you are.


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